


(baby won't you) talk to me

by bropunzeling



Category: Hockey RPF
Genre: Language Kink, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-11-19
Updated: 2013-11-19
Packaged: 2018-01-02 02:25:14
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,380
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1051427
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bropunzeling/pseuds/bropunzeling
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It’s weird, how Sid still isn’t used to hearing Geno speak Russian. (Of course, it would be a lot easier to get used to it if the sound of Geno speaking Russian didn’t get Sid hot.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	(baby won't you) talk to me

**Author's Note:**

> This is all pyrodynamo's fault. She goaded me. (Well, more accurately, she said "write me pwp" and I said "laNGUAGE KINK YO" and here we are.) Thanks to pyrodynamo for letting me chatfic this at her and merrin for the lovingly no-nonsense beta. Title from _Talk To Me_.

It’s weird, how Sid still isn’t used to hearing Geno speak Russian. One would think that after years of exposure, Sid would’ve gotten used to the sound of heavy consonants and full vowels coming out of Geno’s mouth, and Sid would agree with that statement. He’s fully aware that by this point in their friendship, he should be able to handle Geno speaking in his mother tongue without seeing it as anything unusual.

Of course, it would be a lot easier to get used to it if the sound of Geno speaking Russian didn’t get Sid hot.

At first, when Geno was first starting to play with them, Sid had thought it had just been excitement, and to be fair, a lot of it had been. Evgeni Malkin had been a mystery, just a name and a few clips of game tape, and finally being able to meet him, to see that kind of hockey and know in his bones that they were going to go places, had thrilled Sid. Even though there was no way through the language barrier without Gonch, Sid felt they managed to understand each other just fine, and if every once in a while a comment made in their one-on-one practice sessions made Sid shiver, he blamed it on the ice, or anticipation.

It wasn’t until Geno had improved his English, only switching to Russian for phone calls home and when he was truly plastered, that Sid realized how truly fucked he was. Then he couldn’t blame the shudder up his spine on the rink, but instead on the sound of Geno’s voice mumbling something incomprehensible into his ear at the bar, and that was, among other things, terrible for their friendship and totally un-captainly. Not that Sid was doing terribly well at keeping his end of things friendly and teammate-like, anyways, but it was a lot easier to manage his less than platonic feelings for Geno when he didn’t also constantly have to deal with being turned on whenever Geno was pressed up against him in a bar and muttering in his ear.

Thus, Sid tries to keep it to himself nowadays, ignoring the way Geno muttering drunkenly after wins makes him flush, and being grateful for the fact that most of the time, they go to bars without a lot of lighting. And if Duper or Paulie ever shoot him a look over the table top, Sid’s gotten better at ignoring it.

Tonight, though, Sid’s self-control is being put to the test.

It was a good win, the kind that makes Sid feel like they’re on top of the world, that they can and will do anything. He’s had more than a few drinks at the bar that Nealer loudly proposed in the locker room after, unable to keep from smiling at how much he fucking loves his team.

Geno, though, just goes at it, doing shots of vodka like it’s his job before settling himself in the booth next to Sid, draping a heavy arm over his shoulder and grinning benevolently at everyone. His cheeks are flushed and he keeps moving his hands expressively, one constantly thumping against Sid’s shoulder, as he chirps Nealer about his nationality, alcohol tolerance, and inability to live on his own. By the time Sid taps out, he’s expecting to have to call on Paulie to make sure Geno gets home, but surprisingly, when he says he’s leaving, Geno just follows, barely even responding to Nealer’s chirps of being an old man as he uses Sid as a crutch to get out to the sidewalk.

The chill of the air hits Sid like a punch in the gut, helping dissipate some of the fuzziness from his last beer, but Geno’s giving off tons of body heat as he drapes himself over Sid like a particularly lanky blanket, breath hot in Sid’s ear as Sid signals a cab. When they get in, Geno just says, “Your place,” before pressing up all along Sid’s side, and so Sid gives the cab driver his address while awkwardly trying to extract his arm from between their bodies before giving up.

Unsurprisingly, Geno goes all noodly when he’s drunk, limbs everywhere, and tonight is no exception. This time, he’s managed to get an arm tangled around Sid’s shoulders before Sid even realizes it’s there, and his thigh is pressed along Sid’s, making Sid’s mouth dry up and his skin buzz even through two layers of denim. As the driver merges into traffic, Geno twists his head so that his face is almost mashed into Sid’s neck.

“Sid,” Geno says. Sid tries to turn to look at him, only for Geno to keep his face tucked in the crook of Sid’s neck, mumbling unintelligibly slurred Russian into Sid’s skin, and Sid has to push his fingernails into his palm to keep calm. By the time the cab driver’s pulling up in front of Sid’s house, there are half-moon indentations in his hand as he hands over some cash.

Getting Geno out of the cab goes more smoothly than usual, as Geno happily follows Sid up to his front step, leaning against the front wall and tucking his nose into his jacket. “Sid,” he grumbles, and the ensuing stream of Russian makes Sid fumble and drop his keys, a dark flush burning up the back of his neck.

“Sorry,” Sid mutters, bending down only to hear another sentence of Russian that makes him flush harder. Finally he manages to grab his keys and successfully unlock his door, Geno following him into the hallway.

“Shoes, G,” Sid chides, toeing off his own sneakers and waiting until Geno’s slipped out of his shoes and hung his jacket up on the coat rack. Then he tugs Geno into the kitchen, pouring them both a healthy glass of water, and he only has to glare a little to get Geno to slowly sip the entire thing.

Once they’ve both finished, glasses clinking on the counter top, Geno herds Sid into the living room, pushing him onto the couch before flopping down next to him, limbs in an ungainly sprawl, his arm knocking into Sid’s. Sid puts on Sports Center as some white noise, trying to not be too aware of where exactly Geno is on the couch and failing miserably.

After a few minutes, Geno makes a grumpy noise before tipping over and mashing his face into Sid’s thigh, and Sid tries very hard not to jump. “Sid,” he garbles out, and then he’s off again, nonsense Russian syllables spoken into Sid’s leg, and Sid’s just drunk enough that his common sense disappears in the face of a combination of his curiosity and helpless annoyed arousal.

“What the fuck are you even saying, Geno?” he says, a little bit of a whine in his voice, and Geno startles, turning his head so that he can look up at Sid’s face. “Whenever you get like this you just start talking to me in Russian and I don’t understand you, and seriously, what are you telling me?”

Geno – Geno turns _bright red_ and sits up. “I,” he says, voice deep and a little hoarse, and seriously, Sid is so fucked, “I – nothing important.“

Except clearly it is important, judging by the way Geno’s still red as a tomato, and Sid can’t fucking take this. “Seriously, G – you keep saying shit and it’s not fucking fair for you to keep telling me stuff with your voice all like that when I can’t even understand you. Is it embarrassing or something? Because honestly I’d just rather know.”

“I,” Geno says again, stuttering a little, “Some of things I tell Sid, they not very polite.”

Sid frowns. It’s not like Geno to say something rude to Sid, unless –

Sid sucks in a breath, and looks over to find Geno biting his lip, looking embarrassed, and that sparks up a combination of sudden clarity and a tiny flare of hope.

“Are you dirty talking me in Russian?” he asks.

The look on Geno’s face as he says it confirms his suspicions immediately, because he freezes and stares at Sid, wide-eyed. He looks ready to bolt, and Sid’s got a hand on his shoulder, holding him in place before Sid can even think about what he’s doing. “Not that that’s a bad thing!” he blurts out, “I just, you know, I, um, if you are? It’s okay? I mean –“

“Sid,” Geno says, and he’s still flushed, but he doesn’t look nearly as much like he wants to run out of the room as fast as his legs can carry him. In fact, he looks almost _hopeful_ , eyes dark and intrigued, and Sid can’t help the way his pulse jumps in his throat, because maybe, just maybe, that means that Sid’s stupid, hopeless unrequited crush isn’t nearly as hopeless or unrequited as he thought.

Then Geno says something in Russian, and Sid can’t hold back on the full-body shudder that elicits, the way his mouth goes dry and he has to swallow, the way his entire face seems to burn.

Geno grins at him, eyes dark and focused and intense, and says something that sounds similar, and Sid hears his name in between the foreign syllables. He can’t help huffing out a breath, even as his pulse quickens. 

“Geno,” he says, breathless and high and unable to care about how embarrassing he sounds because of how incredibly fucking turned on he is.

“Sid,” Geno says back, sounding like he just got punched in the gut, and then Geno’s scrambling over to him, kneeling over one of Sid’s thighs and getting a hand around the back of Sid’s neck. “Is this okay,” he says, and Sid can barely get out his desperate “Yeah” before Geno’s kissing him, hard and sure.

Sid’s thought about kissing Geno before, but now that he’s confronted with the real thing, he feels spoiled for choice. Geno’s solid and warm over him, and when he tucks a hand into Geno’s back pocket, the other shifting to keep his grip on Geno’s shoulder, Geno groans and bites at Sid’s lip. It makes Sid shudder, earning him a quick grind of Geno’s hips against his own, and Sid can’t help breaking away just enough to gasp.

Geno just does it again, a quick and dirty circle with his hips, and when Sid moans, throaty and breathless, Geno sucks in a breath. “Come on,” he says, shoving at Sid’s shoulders, making him move, and Sid’s just about to protest when suddenly he’s lying on the couch, Geno all pressed on top of him.

“Geno, move,” Sid whines, and Geno doesn’t tease, just dives right in, kissing Sid hard and thorough. One of his huge hands grabs at Sid’s hair, twisting and pulling, while the other slips up under Sid’s shirt, nails scratching at his stomach. Sid twists and kisses back, tightening the hand he has in Geno’s back pocket. It earns him a quick breath, and then Geno just grinds down, the feeling of their dicks brushing even through all the layers of clothing making Sid groan.

At the noise, Geno pulls back, and Sid’s about to protest because who said Geno could stop, when Geno grins at him, sharp and dirty, and grinds down again. Sid moans again, barely even thinking, and when he sees Geno’s smile get even bigger, he pulls down Geno’s hip with the hand he has on Geno’s ass.

They get into a good grind then, Geno ducking his head to nose at Sid’s neck and Sid stretching to let him, before Geno surges back up to get back to Sid’s mouth. It feels good, Geno fucking his tongue into Sid’s mouth and pushing their hips together, every bit of friction sending sparks up Sid’s spine and making him groan. Not even the chafing gets in the way of how much it is, and Sid can’t stop squirming under Geno’s weight. Sid’s always been kind of loud, but while he’d try to keep it down with other people, Geno seems to want it, taking every gasp and sigh as an opportunity to try and earn another, like Sid’s body is a play he wants to learn and perfect.

Then Geno breaks away to bite at the chord of Sid’s neck, sucking a kiss before whispering words into Sid’s skin, dark and low. Sid can’t help the way his hips jump up, how his hands scrabble up and down Geno’s back as a broken sound escapes his lips.

At that, Geno hums and then pulls off, leaving a series of light kisses up and down Sid’s neck until Sid’s squirming underneath him, breath coming out in heaving gasps. “Geno,” he whines as Geno shifts to provide only the tiniest bit of friction before moving away, too much and not enough all at once. “Clothes, G.”

“Okay,” Geno says, giving Sid one last kiss underneath his ear before sitting up on his heels to wrench off his shirt. Sid has to stare at the view, eyes raking over skin even as his hands settle on Geno’s hips. In turn, Geno shoves at Sid’s shirt, rucking it up to the armpits until Sid reluctantly lifts his hands enough for Geno to get it up over his head and throw both their tees onto one of Sid’s armchairs.

Sid shudders, just a little, as Geno runs his hands over Sid’s chest, thumbing at his nipples before sliding away. The look on Geno’s face is something awed and intense, and the full force of it makes Sid shiver again. 

“C’mon, G,” he says, reaching for Geno’s fly, and that snaps Geno out of it, batting Sid’s hand away as he undoes the buttons himself. Every shift of Geno’s legs as he wiggles out of his jeans rubs up against Sid’s cock, pulling high-pitched noises out of his throat. 

Then Geno’s reaching down, thumbing open Sid’s fly and yanking down his jeans and underwear, and Sid lifts up his hips so Geno can shove everything down to his ankles. As Sid kicks his way free, Geno resettles over him, long and burning hot against his skin, staring at Sid.

“Fuck,” Geno says, running a hand down Sid’s side, “fuck, Sid,” and then he’s sliding their dicks together as he gasps Russian into Sid’s skin, and Sid fucking keens.

“Geno,” he moans, and Geno keeps going, the arch of his body as hot as a live wire as he grinds down on Sid. When Sid tries to get a hand down between them, Geno grabs it with his own, linking their fingers together and pressing Sid’s hand down into the couch cushion by his head, gripping hard enough to hurt. Then he takes his free hand, licking a stripe up the palm before reaching down and starting to jerk Sid off.

“Fuck,” Sid groans, “fuck, Geno, you, _fuck_ ,” and Geno just keeps going, his grip just tight enough, thumb catching under the head. He’s got his head ducked down into Sid’s collarbone, whispering words into Sid’s skin as Sid’s free hand scrabbles up and down his back. Sometimes Sid catches his own name, or a repeated phrase, but mostly it’s the intensity that gets him, the tone of Geno’s voice as it catches while Geno takes Sid apart.

“Geno come on, just let me,” Sid gasps, barely able to keep his eyes open enough to see Geno looking back at him, the way Geno’s hand moves. “I want you to – I need you to – _Geno_.”

However, Geno doesn’t listen, just keeps biting down Sid’s chest, leaving behind small bruises and tugging at Sid’s nipples with his teeth. Sid brings his hand up to twist in Geno’s hair, probably gripping a little too tight, but Geno just keeps marking up Sid’s chest and working Sid’s dick as Sid gasps for air.

He knows he’s close, can feel it in the heat pooling in his stomach and the way his skin is buzzing, hands hot, but it’s not until Geno says, low and distinct, “Sid,” and twists his hand, that Sid’s coming, eyes sliding shut and back bowing off the couch.

When he comes back too, Geno’s pulled himself up, staring at him with wide eyes. “Sid,” he says, and Sid can’t help smiling back, feeling warm and golden.

“C’mere,” he says, sounding a little slurred as he grabs Geno’s ass, “I wanna blow you.”

Geno heaves a huge shuddering breath, blinking at Sid until Sid pulls at his hips again. Then he seems to get the picture, shuffling forward on his knees while Sid scoots up enough to brace his shoulders on the armrest, running a hand up and down Geno’s thigh.

It’s not like Sid hasn’t sucked cock before – there’ve been relationships before, but always brief and discreet. Sometimes for them Sid would put on a show, live up to the comments he’d get about his pretty mouth. This time, though, Sid doesn’t want to tease, just looks at Geno’s dick before leaning up enough to suck the head. The noise he gets, rasping and harsh, is encouragement enough, and he pulls off only to lick his hand before going back. He tongues the slit and the underside before going at it in earnest, fingers of his free hand gripping Geno’s ass as he urges him forward, wanting to take Geno in, to get as much of Geno as he can.

Geno’s talking above him, and when Sid pays attention he hears his name mixed in with more Russian. It sets something flaring in his stomach, and he sucks harder, taking Geno in until his lips meet the circle of his fingers around Geno’s cock. It earns him a noise, low and harsh, and as Geno keeps going Sid can hear how broken and thready his voice sounds. Every word makes Sid’s skin buzz, and even though he’s already come he can’t help the flare of want, and he takes Geno in even deeper.

Then Sid does something with his tongue just so and Geno, whose thighs are trembling with the effort of keeping his hips still, thrusts in, the head of his dick nudging at the back of Sid’s throat.

“Sorry, I’m sorry, Sid,” Geno babbles, but Sid just hums, because he thinks it’d be alright if Geno fucked his throat – in fact, he _wants_ Geno to, and so he just relaxes his throat muscles and takes Geno in further, pulling on Geno’s hips.

Geno takes the hint, snapping his hips even and quick, and Sid gets both hands on his ass, lets Geno fuck his throat, choking a little on it. Above him Geno’s babbling, his voice sounding even more fucked up, a litany of unknowable sounds and Sidney’s name.

Then he hears, “Sid, Sid, I’m – _Sid_ ,” and Sid pulls back enough to work Geno through it, swallowing noisily as Geno comes in his mouth.

Carefully he keeps sucking, everything light until Geno’s petting at his hair, mumbling, “Too much, Sid,” and then he pulls off with a wet sound. Geno makes a noise at that, shifting back so he can flop back on top of Sid, running a hand over Sid’s face, thumb brushing Sid’s cheekbone. Sid pants, trying to get his breath back, and then Geno’s peppering his face with light kisses, all across his jaw and cheek, and Sid can’t help it when he bursts into the giggles.

“Sorry,” he gets out, still laughing a little, “I just – I, you – we,” and then Geno looks at him, eyes soft and gleaming, and huffs out a laugh. That just sets Sid off again, and then they’re both laughing, Geno settling his face in the crook of Sid’s neck as Sid giggles, the feeling of Geno’s laughter shaking into Sid’s chest.

“So,” he manages, after his breathing’s settled, “we’re – we’re doing that again, right?”

Geno pushes himself up enough to make eye contact, a small smile on his face. “If Sid want, we do.”

“Well I do. Want, I mean,” Sid says all in a rush, and that earns him an even bigger grin.

“Okay,” Geno replies, and his smile is huge and dopey and Sid loves it, wants to kiss it off his face, and then he realizes that he can – so he does.


End file.
